_Y. Mir._ Away with this impertinence; this is no place for bagatelle; I have murdered my honour, destroyed a lady, and my desire of reparation is come at length too late. See there! _Dur._ What ails her? _Y. Mir._ Alas, she's mad! _Dur._ Mad! dost wonder at that? By this light, they're all so; they're cozening mad; they're brawling mad; they're proud mad: I just now came from a whole world of mad women, that had almost--What, is she dead? _Y. Mir._ Dead! Heavens forbid. _Dur._ Heavens further it; for, till they be as cold as a key, there's no trusting them; you're never sure that a woman's in earnest, till she is nailed in her coffin. Shall I talk to her? Are you mad, mistress? _Bis._ What's that to you, sir? _Dur._ Oons, madam, are you there? [_Runs off._ _Y. Mir._ Away, thou wild buffoon! How poor and mean this humour now appears? His follies and my own I here disclaim; this lady's phrensy has restored my senses, and, was she perfect now, as once she was, (before you all I speak it) she should be mine; and, as she is, my tears and prayers shall wed her. _Dug._ How happy had this declaration been some hours ago! _Bis._ Sir, she beckons to you, and waves us to go off: come, come, let's leave them. [_Exeunt all but_ YOUNG MIRABEL _and_ ORIANA. _Oriana._ Oh, sir! _Y. Mir._ Speak, my charming angel, if your dear senses have regained their order; speak, fair, and bless me with the news. _Oriana._ First, let me bless the cunning of my sex, that happy counterfeited phrensy that has restored to my poor labouring breast the dearest, best beloved of men. _Y. Mir._ Tune all, ye spheres, your instruments of joy, and carry round your spacious orbs the happy sound of Oriana's health; her soul, whose harmony was next to yours, is now in tune again; the counterfeiting fair has played the fool! She was so mad, to counterfeit for me; I was so mad, to pawn my liberty: But now we both are well, and both are free. _Oriana._ How, sir? Free! _Y. Mir._ As air, my dear bedlamite! What, marry a lunatic! Lookye, my dear, you have counterfeited madness so very well this bout, that you'll be apt to play the fool all your life long.----Here, gentlemen! _Oriana._ Monster! you won't disgrace me! _Y. Mir._ O' my faith, but I will. Here, come in gentlemen.--A miracle! a miracle! the woman's dispossess'd! the devil's vanished! _Enter_ OLD MIRABEL _and_ DUGARD. _Old Mir._ Bless us! was she possessed? _Y. Mir._ With the worst of demons, sir! a marriage devil! a horrid devil! Mr. Dugard, don't be surprised. I promised my endeavours to cure your sister; no mad doctor in Christendom could have done it more effectually. Take her into your charge; and have a care she don't relapse. If she should, employ me not again, for I am no more infallible than others of the faculty; I do cure sometimes.